Clowning Around
by gopadfoot
Summary: Mycroft is the Iceman, the rational one. What if he had acted more in character the night his brother and John broke into his home?


In terror, Mycroft saw the clown coming towards him. He reached for his umbrella- then paused. _Oh._

He put down the umbrella, and casually crossed his legs. "So this is some alternate evening entertainment arranged for by my brother. How nice of Sherlock to be so thoughtful."

The clown grabbed a sword and advanced towards him threateningly. Mycroft chuckled. "Come now, who do you think you're fooling? Had you wanted me dead, I would be a corpse by now."

His expression then turned into the one that had earned him the nickname "The Iceman." "Call your boss here. NOW."

The clown froze in his tracks. Impatiently, Mycroft called out, "If you don't show yourself NOW, brother mine, I shall go back to sleep. I'm sure you have nothing important to discuss, anyhow."

Smirking, Mycroft was vindicated by the sound of a whistle, followed by the lights turning back on. Sherlock emerged from the shadows, looking as sheepish as the little boy who once ruined the kitchen table in an ill-advised experiment, and was scolded by his Mummy. He dismissed the men, and turned to his brother with a mutinous expression.

"A bit late for a family visit, wouldn't you think so?" Mycroft asked caustically.

Sherlock's expression changed into one of anger. "What do you know about her?" he challenged.

"Oh, our sister? A lot."

Sherlock was flabbergasted, having expected a good amount of denial and obfuscation.

"Then... why don't _I_ know anything?"

"Actually, you do."

"You will tell me _everything_ you know," Sherlock seethe.

"Will I?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Of course you will," came a new voice. Dr. Watson was suddenly at Sherlock's side.

"Ah, Dr. Watson. I see you fancied a little trip to my residence. I'm sorry I haven't prepared any refreshments on such short notice."

"This isn't a joke, Mycroft!" John fumed. "Your sister was pretending to be my therapist, and she shot me!"

"You look alright to me," Mycroft eyed him critically.

"Tranquilizer gun. Not the point," John said shortly. "Tell the truth, or you will be having security issues on a daily basis."

The British Government turned deadly serious. "You said this is not a joke. Then why are you treating it like one? Breaking in, destroying my property, setting up an elaborate prank with bloody tears and clowns... I wouldn't have expected you to condone such childish actions, Dr. Watson."

"It was my idea, actually," the doctor replied defiantly.

The older Holmes turned to his brother. "Tell me, Sherlock, why me? Why didn't you play a prank on Mummy and Dad to get them to tell you about their daughter?"

"Because I'm sure there are things you know that they don't."

"Perhaps. But they could have at least set you on the right track. Interesting, isn't it, that I'm always to blame for any issues you might have. Now, why not call me up and ask me? Perhaps give me a chance to say my piece?"

"Someone convinced him that you wouldn't tell the truth, unless you were nearly wetting yourself," John interrupted.

"Someone?" Mycroft asked.

"Might have been me."

Mycroft paused, then took a few deep breaths. There was a torrent of emotions welling up in him, and he needed to supress it in order to continue dealing with the dreadful duo.

"Dr. Watson, I commend you on a great plan, which would have actually worked had Sherlock not overlooked one little detail. Now, please see yourself out, I need to speak to my brother."

"No," said Sherlock resolutely. "You will come to Baker Street, tomorrow morning."

"And if there's a queue, join it," John piped in.

"And don't forget to close that window, there's an East Wind coming," Sherlock added, clearly enjoying himself.

"Don't forget, the security's been disabled, and Eurus is coming," John added.

Mycroft tapped his fingers on his brolly, and then sighed in mock disappointment. "And here I thought you were taking this seriously at last. No, this can't wait until morning. Sherlock, I will speak to you in private now."

"No, John stays."

"This is a _family_ matter," Mycroft hissed, his irritation finally showing through.

"That's _exactly_ why John is staying!" Sherlock exclaimed triumphantly.

Mycroft blinked. "Ah, I see. Congratulations to the both of you."

"Mycroft!" The younger brother fumed.

"Truly, I am impressed with your ability to form a freindship that runs that deep," the older brother's tone was sincere. "John, welcome to the family. I'm sure you'll come around sometime for dinner or tea. I see you've even had Sherlock's attitude towards family rub off on you. Now, I will speak with _Sherlock,_ and you may wait in the kitchen, and help yourself to some refreshments, as I see you're feeling quite at home here."

John had the decency to look sheepish as he slunk away. "John," Mycroft called after him. "Remember, familial relationships run both ways. I will be keeping an eye on our newest family member."

Mycroft then led his younger brother into his study, and they both took seats. "Sherlock," he said gently. "Before I begin, I want you to know, that this is something I've been dreading for a long time. This won't be easy, for either of us. I understand you're angry, and you have every right to be. I'm only asking you to consider that I've always wanted what's best for you. I never wanted to hurt you. Please let me tell the story, and then you may yell at me to your hearts content."

Sherlock looked at him for a moment. "How did you know?"

Mycroft smirked. "Sherlock, you've always had a fear of clowns. I have no idea why you thought _I_ would find them scary, however."

"There's always something I've missed," the younger brother grumbled.


End file.
